The Tree

I found myself talking about this tree among friends a couple of Saturdays ago, and it reminded me of this poem. Beautiful memories of a beautiful tree, when my babies were babies. Read it, close your eyes, and join the hive with me.

Note from August 2017: My girl came home last night and told me, tearfully, that the new owners of our old house cut down her favorite tree – the only one in our yard she could climb, and the one I often loved looking at through the dining room window. It always shed large branches in wind storms or heavy rain, but its dark, fat old limbs always reminded me of muscles and the bees loved the brief white blossoms in the spring. Farewell, old tree.

From 2015:

Spring / The Hive

Outside the bees fly in

And out

Of so many down-turned white blossoms

Hanging from branches

Heavy with green leaves

Curtains forming a shady canopy

Inside it the constant




I close my eyes

Turn off my loud thoughts

And join the hive.

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